Red tiles, steeply pitched to ward off the heavy snow that occasionally falls in this area. The timber frame had withstood the onslaught of inclement weather for several hundred years. It was early spring and the buds were just starting to appear on the bare brown branches. The main rooms were on the ground floor but my favourite space was in the attic, under the eaves of the roof. My antique desk was placed so that I could see across the orchard to the surrounding fields.

Over the centuries I had written millions of words. As I got older my spirit passed from one body to the next. Each person was different in their own way but all were conjoined by the same unstoppable compulsion to write.